Black King
by Frolite
Summary: Prince Robert II Baratheon was living his perfect life. He was first in line to be King,the People loved him, the Nobles were kissing his arse and the Faith did his bidding. Everything was going perfectly fine until Jaime decided to accidentally knock him out. Now he was starting to have dreams disguised as nightmares of another life. Suddenly life wasn't so perfect anymore.
1. The Dream

-Black King-

Prologue

* * *

Harry wasn't actually sure what to expect when that bright green light that was the Killing Curse struck him in the chest, but it sure was hell wasn't a whited out King's Cross, or _this._

"Do I...bow?" he asked, voice full of uncertainty and hesitation, both of which contributed very much to the sheer and utter terror that this...nice looking old man radiated. Yeah, an old man. He was dead, in King's Cross, with an absolutely terrifying nice old man in a black suit holding a cane.

What an amazing day, no scratch that, what an absolutely _marvelous _day.

"No Mister Potter, you do not. That, I'm afraid will not be proper." he, it or whatever the hell answered. Confusion took over Harry's other feelings as he scrunched his eyebrows together, trying to come up with an answer for that.

"Uh.." was all that actually came out.

"Listen Sir, you seem like a very nice man, but I'm supposed to be dead and-" he started but was cut off.

"Tut tut, whoever said you were dead? Your current situation is much more complicated I'm afraid...much... more." the old man smiled and Harry thought it made his terrifying presence shoot up to absolutely unbearable.

"If I'm not dead then... I'm alive?" his answer seemed to both amuse and annoy the other person, if it was a person.

"And here I thought Wizards were supposed to be much more open minded than the so called 'muggles' you deem as inferior..." he sighed, he snapped his fingers and suddenly there was a chair.

"I don't understand, if I'm not dead or alive then..what the hell am I?" he asked as the old man got comfortable in his leather chair.

...No answer

"Uh.."

"Well that's enough talking for the day. I hereby begin your first reincarnation, have fun now." the man said. He snapped his fingers and a trapdoor of some sort appeared below Harry.

"To Westeros you go Prince Baratheon!"

"Wha- wait! What the fu-"

* * *

"What the fuck!?" he yelled in horror as he shot up in his bed, breathing heavily as rivers of sweat poured downwards across his chiseled body. Robin slapped his hands into his face, groaning as he did.

That was the third time this week he had that dream. Or nightmare depending on one's perspective, it would usually end in two ways. Either 'Death' conjured a trap door for him to scream and fall into or he would actually land a front-kick to his face, sending him flying into the abyss.

Looks like this time it was the former.

It all started two moons ago, when his Uncle Jaime accidentally slammed a trainee's Morning Star into the back of his head. It wasn't exactly painful, but he did almost piss his pants on the way down. His mother was absolutely furious and had almost banned his Uncle (who didn't look as guilty as he should be) and him from the courtyard forever.

He supposed it was some sort of initiation, the first time he was officially knocked out. He heard that most of the squires had smiles on their faces when the Grandmaester deemed him unfit for training for well over a week.

Varys was so much help, he'd gotten every single one of their names and launched a special week of drills, doing all sorts of 'fun' exercises with them. Their screams filled his black soul with so much joy.

Apparently he was out for a whole day, Myrcella refused to leave his bedside and even Joff looked deeply disturbed at seeing his oldest brother lay still for more than five minutes. Tommen... well Tommen thought he was taking a long nap. Gods he loved that boy but if he ended up being another Robert Arryn than Pycelle was going to lose his head, some teacher he was.

That was the first time he had 'The Dream'. It always started with a bright flash of green light, followed by a laugh so malicious even Lord Tywin would twitch in horror. Then came the old man in that same weird clothing he always wore. Robin remembered his cane, his smug face; especially when he landed that kick on his face.

The old man, whom he at first thought to be some Lord practicing dark magic from Asshai actually turned out to be something infinitely scarier.

He lifted his hand in front of him, closing all fingers into his palm but the index. He took deep breaths, concentrating as he did, trying to pull out that feeling he had when he first woke up from his injury. A familiar pull in his gut assaulted his senses and slowly, but surely some form of miniature lightning appeared on his fingertips. It danced about on his index, it's blue tinge lighting up his awed face in blue.

That was a new development, he could only assume that this mysterious Deity was probably the one who saw fit to bless him with magic.

He dispersed the tiny currents on his fingers and quickly prepared for the day. The lovely servant girl (who was obviously eye-fucking him) drew him a bath and prepared breakfast as he stretched himself. He was too lazy to think about all the supernatural elements of his life for the time being.

Quickly washing himself and swallowing his breakfast, the Crown Prince dressed himself, preferring to wear cloths similar to the workers of in the Red Keep, except his was all in silk. He had no problems enduring his mother's stink eye in return for the comfort of his clothes.

"Prince Robert!" a man yelled out as he came running towards him in the hallway, Robin let him catch his breath for a bit, the poor bastard looked like he'd ran for miles.

"It's...your siblings again..there's a commotion in the training fields." and just like that Robin's day was soured. He didn't know what it was this time but the two shitheads he called brothers were going to suffer for this.

"Right, I have some left over food, go on then, enjoy the breakfast of Royalty." he said patting the man on the back as he walked - because the Crown Prince never runs, what would the servants say? He waved off the man's thanks and took long strides down the stairs, making his way towards the training yards as he did.

'Oh what fresh hell is this?' he thought as the whole of the Red Keep watched as two boys rolled around in the mud at dawn while screaming obscenities. He spotted his Uncle shaking his head as he watched the two hump each other. The others were cheering on, some of them betting who would come up on top. The men it appeared, were quite enjoying seeing a Royal made a fool of himself.

Oh there was Clegane, trying his best to hide his girly giggles. Yeah the Hound giggles like a girl, Robin was extremely surprised and elated when he heard that during one of their drinking sessions. Because the Hound was supposed to be scary as shit, and that now he had blackmail material over the bastard.

Looking up to the skies, Robin inwardly begged whatever gods that could hear him to magic his two idiots to grow up. Slowly, he moved, taking slow deliberate steps toward the ruckus. Everyone slowly turned to him when they realized the his presence among them, wide eyes and raised eyebrows accompanied the dramatic gasps as he moved closer.

The gasping was probably because he looked like he was going to reenact the Ruby Ford.

The wrestling pair slowly calmed themselves as the previously lively crowd was now dead silent. The heavy thumps his large frame made in the mud was what finally cause them to stop completely, both of them staring at his boots in muted horror. Their eyes slowly trailed upwards to see a very unhappy Prince.

"There they are, my heir to the Throne of Westeros, the Prince and heir to Casterly Rock, and the royal bastard." he said, voice flat and eyes cold.

"B-brother..." Joffrey almost cried, because that particular face only made an appearance when:

A) Someone probably was about to die

B) No alcohol was to be found

C) Someone was definitely about to die

Both of them were half-sure that they haven't pissed their brother of to the point where he would commit murder... yet, and wine practically flowed like water in the Red Keep which meant...

Two large hands grabbed Joffrey and Gendry by the napes of their training jerkin, the two did nothing as they were raised into the air like a bunch of naughty animals.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing in public?" he questioned, voice as calm as ever. But everybody knew it was a sham, and that a storm was coming, they just prayed that none of them would be caught in it.

"He started-" both of them tried to get out but were shot down immediately.

"Oh no no...I'm afraid I don't care. What I do care is my brothers acting like animals, a Prince who behaves like a dog and a Bastard stupid enough to get into a brawl with a royalty." he continued, his voice neutral and just soft enough for the closer men to hear. Because the Crown Prince didn't shout, he did not need to.

"I think you two have been enjoying free will for far too long..from now on-" he he jerked his head at the Hound, signaling him to come forth. The ever obedient sworn sword stepped forwards.

"You will be under the personal training of Clegane." he finished with handsome smile, reveling in the horror-stricken faces of the little shits.

"You can do anything that doesn't leave them crippled or dead. Try to leave their teeths intact. And if I hear so much as even a _whisper_ of defiance, I'll take you two to hell myself...understood?"

"Yes Sir!" the two almost yelled enthusiastically, even if their wide eyes betrayed their true feelings. He dropped the two down on their arses and cleaned dusted his palms.

"Get out of my sight!" he ordered, patience wearing thin. The two scrambled, obeying as fast as they could. He had no doubt that Gendry would go off running to Mya and Joffrey to their mother.

"Get started tomorrow Clegane, and don't hold back." he continued patting the Hound on the back as the made eye contact.

"Duly noted." the Knight replied, nodding.

"As for the rest of you!" he exclaimed raising his voice just enough that every man could hear him.

"Why don't we go out for training drills this afternoon!" he suggested. It was a suggestion that no one had the balls to refuse, the men groaned and complained but ultimately knew it was useless.

"And Jaime can follow us." he ended, rather enjoying the face he made when his dear uncle made.

"Oh fuck me.." the man said, rubbing his face.

"Yes fuck you Jaime, that Morning Star incident still gives me nightmares."

* * *

That afternoon was relatively quiet, he had sent the crying pathetic excuses for Knights and Gold Cloaks away to rest and heal after they returned. Usually his military drills would last three days to a week outside of King's Landing. He had to increase intensity threefold to make up for the ridiculously short amount of time they spend today.

Until it wasn't quiet, his father had called for him as soon as arrived. The current Hand of the King, Jon Arryn had passed away during his absence, some sort of freak sickness in the form of a fever hit him out of the sudden, killing him.

Robin sighed, taking the first seat he saw. Old man Arryn was the only grandfather he had. While it was a miracle he'd survive this long in this primitive world, it hurt so much to see the closed eyes and cold body. The only comfort he had was the fact that this had been a long time coming. Jon wasn't always the healthiest stag around, and the stresses that came from practically running the Kingdom must have gotten to him.

Wait... primitive?

Why did he think that? They weren't savages, this was King's Landing, the Capital itself of Westeros.

How weird..

"Boy.." he heard a voice call out to him. A deep rumble escaped his throat as the King struggled to hold his tears. He looked like he was trying to say something, but the pain of losing his second father must have really shaken him.

Robin stood up and easily gathered his father into his arms, sharing a long hug for the man they both missed.

"Alright alright.. we're not girls!" he exclaimed, rubbing his fat cheeks with his wine stained sleeves. Robin chuckled rubbing his short black hair as he did. His father and him shared a simple but complicated relationship. They loved each other very much, just as a son and father should. But Robert's immaturity, combined with Robin's early growth spurt and rapid maturity into adulthood left them acting closer to friends than parent and child

"We're going to Winterfell." his father announced after a short silence. At first Robin was bewildered, because the North was fucking far. It took a few moments before what he said really sank in.

"Lord Stark is it?" he asked, his questioned confirmed. The famous Lord Stark, the quiet wolf of Winterfell. Robin always thought it was a shame they had never met, he would have loved to make conversation with such a man.

"I guess I'll hold the fort so to speak, when will you be leaving?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the look he got.

"_We're_ going to Winterfell, that means you too boy. Ned should be getting to know the future King, after all you're the one he's swearin allegiance to when I die." the man trailed off in a mumble.

"I'll just put Renly in charge for the mean time." Robert said, knowing what his son was going to say.

"Renly? _Renly?_ You know sometimes I pity the poor bastards of Westeros, having you as a King." Robin said honestly, shaking his head.

"Shut it!"

* * *

The Red Keep busied itself during the next week as preparations were being made for the journey North. The news of Jon Arryn's death had already become common news to to the smallfolk and noble alike. Many guests flocked in to witness the funeral in the Sept, creating a bit of a hassle as the Red Keep had to handle preparations for both.

It was during the week where Stannis, the King's brother had practically disappeared into the wind, heading back to Dragonstone without so much as a word. Lysa Arryn had also followed suit, bringing her son with her back to the Vale, causing a scandal. It was a well-known fact that Robert Arryn was to be fostered to Lord Tywin in Casterly Rock, it appeared that Lysa announced her refusal quite spectacularly with that disappearing act.

The Prince's Faction, which dominated the King's court were nervous about how this would affect the Prince and them as a whole. While every single one of the nobles and lowborn within the group's loyalty was assured, the ones outside were completely unknown. As a result, the lesser Lannister and the remaining Noble's faction were slowly being choked to death in an ensuing cold war.

Robin had no doubts about his place in the grand scheme of everything. He had his own agenda true, his own diabolical plans and intrigues he puppeteered behind the scenes but he ultimately wanted only the best for his people, both noble and smallfolk. The Faith could go to hell for all he cared, not like the other two groups weren't desperate and greedy but those Septons took it to a whole other level.

He quickly and rudely stamped down on his father's expensive activities, quite violently at that. The arguments and screams that came from the small council room were still talked about in hushed whispers in the hallways.

Tournaments that cost hundreds of thousands of dragons? Robin was actually quite proud he didn't kick his old man's teeth in.

He struggled to juggle the happiness and satisfaction of the lowborn, nobles and the faith at first. It took long agonizing months of sleepless nights of modifying certain laws and taxes before he could even get started on refilling the treasuries. Varys, the head of his faction in court was indispensable. He knew not how or why, but the Master of Whisperers had taken an immense liking to him and was happy to aid him in his efforts to straighten the Kingdom.

He was all too happy to help him steal back the money that was slowly being siphoned into Littlefinger's accounts.

And there it was, the biggest obstacle in his path, not even the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea bothered him as much as that cocksucker did. Even with Varys's help, it took them three whole months to discover exactly what Petyr Baelish, the Kingdom's very own Master of Coin was doing. Boy he wasn't happy when the truth came to light. Two Kingsguard and the Hound had to hold him back and even then they struggled to keep the blood raving Prince down.

He couldn't just kill Baelish and be done with it, Baelish's littlefingers (pun intended) was buried deep in the heart of King's Landing. Robin first targeted the Goldcloaks, ripping out the corrupt with impunity. Executions, floggings, whatever it took, Robin had it done. His hard work in cultivating a mix of fear, respect and loyalty earned him an elite thousand men that were mostly loyal to him.

After all he rebuilt them from the ground up, selecting _every_ member by himself and hauling their arses for training and drills. The Goldcloaks weren't even called that any longer, with most of the residents now referring to them as the Black Guards, Prince Robert's personal army.

With the new inventions that he had cooked up; which he would never admit to anyone, came from mysterious dreams he had as a child (such as the printing press), money finally flowed in more than it left for the first time in over a decade.

He immediately started plans for drainage systems, public bath-houses, orphanages and even a long-term project for mass schooling. He had plans to demolish the old Dragonpit because honestly, Robin couldn't give two shits about the dragons and their white haired pricks for riders.

Most of them were in their planning stages but certain Lords, whom he deemed as genuine had pledged themselves to his cause and aided him in his ventures. Then came the rest of the vultures who didn't want to be left behind. The remaining Nobles who refused and denounced him, not as their future King of course, only his plans were stubbornly clinging to their beliefs that lowborn should not be receiving all these...privileges formed their own faction, aptly named the Nobles.

All that in four short years. He wasn't one to brag, mostly because he had so much luck on his side it wasn't even funny; but it was no small wonder as to why most Lords were already kissing his arse trying to get on his good side.

He was in the middle of clearing the other facets of corruption eating away at the city when the old man died, and now they were heading to Winterfell, halting most of his plans. No doubt Varys would handle things perfectly, but Robin had a habit of micromanaging, and when he couldn't do that it tended to put him on edge.

"Mother, I'm six and ten. I have six heirs, and god knows how many spares out there. I will marry when I want to, whom I want to, and that is _final._" he said, slapping his book shut, causing his sister and brother to jump.

Cersei scowled at her son, having to crane her neck to look at him. Robin sometimes pitied his other siblings who did not inherit his father's genes as much as he did. The Baratheon seed had made him absurdly large for his age, he was at the same height as his father now, except where the old man was a fatass he had actual muscles.

Sure, their mother's Lannister side had given his other siblings ridiculously pretty faces, and those cheekbones, he was the only one who didn't get that, and it secretly bugged him. He knew he was roguishly handsome, but the little ones would definitely be supermodels when they aged.

'What the fuck's a supermodel?' he thought in confusion. Sometimes he confused himself, this was all Jaime's fault.

His mother was about to open her mouth when the carriage broke down...again.

He heard his father's loud voice yell out in annoyance and sighed, knowing it was going to be a long while before they got moving again. The Queen even had the cheek to look unapologetic in the slightest.

"Robbie are we there yet?" Myrcella asked from beside him. Her thick black hair was done up all fancily in southern style braids, her green eyes sparkling in amusement, staring into his own blue ones as she purposefully asked the one question he would knock anyone out for asking, except for her of course.

'They better have good wine up there.' he thought.

* * *

_**A/N: Thoughts?**_**I am beta-less by the way, so forgive the mistakes. I've proof read as best as I can.**

**HP elements will appear down the road bit by bit. Any similarities between Characters from my other Fic is purely coincidental, both are their own characters.**


	2. Winterfell (Part 1)

-Black King-

Winterfell

* * *

Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of the North and Winterfell steeled himself as the the visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

He recognized many of them, those who stood out the most was of course Ser Jaime, his bright hair practically shining as his Kingsguard amour, and there was the Hound himself Sandor Clegane, with his terrible burned face. Two boy could be seen riding on either side of him, one black of hair and the other blonde. Ned thought that they were practically the opposite of one another, with different sets of green and blue eyes; one wide opened in excitement and the other a barely veiled boredom.

To the Lord's surprise, another three hundred rode in, all cavalry. It look as if a blanket of darkness turned sentient and gained legs. All of them were dressed in black, reminicscent of the Night's Watch, but this group seemed much more formidable. Each man wore full black leather armor, neatly decorated with a dark cape that would have swept the floor if they dismounted. Each of them armed with a single pole-arm draped behind their backs and a single longsword on their waist. A dark pointed helmet adorned each of their heads, with the section coming down the middle, stopping at the nose.

Ned of course realized that this must be the famed Blackguard of Prince Robert, though Black Horde would be more fitting in his opinion, even their horses were all armored in black! A tall man led them at the head, only a head shorter than the King himself, and Robert was in no way a short man. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. A thought crossed Ned's mind at possibility of the Rider's identity but he put it away for later.

He heard his name being called out and turned his head, there he saw him, finally after nine years. Robert looked... nothing like he was expecting. If anything Ned thought the King looked just as he was when they were but youths! Robert had lost all the fat he built up during the Greyjoy years, his hair was cut very short, the spaces of two fingers and his clean shaven face made him look like giant boy. Ned squinted his eyes, wondering if he had gone senile because it appeared as if Robert had grown even taller.

Suddenly his King turned his horse to the side, to make way for... a fat man?

"Ned!" the man roared in a very familiar voice.

'By the old gods..' Ned thought in a mix of embarrassment and exasperation at his obvious mistake.

The large girth of a man strode forwards with heavy steps, to Ned's amazement Robert looked unexpectedly healthy for the most part. His long black hair was tied like a as usual. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach. It was larger than he remembered. His face was plump and shining. Ned would have thought he'd drink himself half to death by now. His blue eyes were still fiery and alive, with shoulders were broad as ever, surely there was some strength that clung to him.

"Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed.

"You have not changed at all." he continued, clapping him on the back so hard Ned almost stumbled. 'Strength indeed' he thought.

"Your Grace. Winterfell is yours." he could only say.

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. There was young Tommen, who Ned thought looked the mirror-image of his uncle the Kingslayer, beside him was the princess Myrcella, whose appearance reminded him of the Late Lady Cassana he'd met once.

The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned would have many words to say to that, but alas it was not his place.

Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. He spotted the the other Robert coming closer and was once again slammed with nostalgia, for a second he felt as a boy of six and ten back in the Eyrie.

"The infamous Lord Stark! How I've long to make your acquaintance my lord." the Prince addressed him. The boy's teeth shone as bright as the sun and finally Ned could see the difference between the two Roberts.

"My Prince, it is good to finally meet you." he said, a barest hint of a smile on his face.

"Ned! To the crypts with me, I wish to pay my respects." the King said after a short inspection of the Stark children. The Queen protested half-heartedly, but was rebuffed instantly by his old friend, who merely stalked off. Ned muttered his apologies and quickly followed after, noting the twin frowns the mother and son pair were sporting. Ned hoped Robert's attitude wouldn't give his son the wrong impression of the Starks.

"As the King commands my lord." the Prince said, his dimming smile etched into Ned's mind as he walked away.

* * *

"Ah! If it isn't the wolves of Winterfell! Pleasure to meet you my lords and ladies!" Robin called out to the silent Stark children. The whole lot of them jumped as the scrambled to bow their heads in respect. "None of that now! Not yet at least!" the prince joked, drawing a few weak chuckles.

Robin craned his neck, looking for the sixth Stark but failing in his search, he decided to look for the boy later. He had heard about how the Lady Catelyn treated her husband's bastard and even he had the decency to not bring the matter up in public.

Almost unknowingly copying his father before, the Prince proceeded to inspect the Stark five closer. He noted that the heir Robb favored his mother's coloring. He thought it was a waste since it could mean the Starks from now on were going to share the Tully's signature traits, unless Northern blood was re-introduced. He preferred a little variety in his nobles. He clasped arms with Robb, who adorably tried his best to not be intimidated by the painstakingly obvious height difference.

Poor boy was trying his best to look good and proud, but that illusion was easily broken when a large meaty hand slapped him on the back as Robin invited him for drinks at the feast later tonight. As he moved on, he was treated to another red-head, this time the girl Sansa, who looked to be hopelessly in love with Joff already as the exchange what the two thought must have been deeply romantic stares. A tingling at the back of his head disturbed him as he stared at the girl but he quickly dismissed it.

'Little shit must be proud of himself.' he thought.

Though his large frame caught her attention easily, the girl's cheeks were tinged as red as her hair at being caught. He muttered a few compliments and gave her a kiss on the knuckles. The next Stark to his surprise, actually looked like one. His eyes narrowed when he saw the girl trying her best to maintain eye contact with him, her lower lip jutting slightly in a cute pout. This one was a fighter.

"Aha! a little Wolf's blood in this one I see!" he exclaimed with a savage grin that finally broke her mask. The girl quickly looked to her mother wide eyed, who shared the same look as she shook her head. Robin ignored them as he moved to the other red-head.

"Would you be joining us in training then my lord?" he asked the starstruck boy whose eyes were capturing the sights he'd never seen before in the deary cold north. The boy quickly nodded his head. He shouted a command and as the whole royal company settled in, he dismissed the Starks, ruffling the youngest's hair as he moved to his mother, who bore a face bitter than usual.

"Well aren't you the picture of happiness?" he joked, only to receive a dirty stare as she moved on, Tommen and Myrcella at her heels.

"Lord-Commander!" he shouted, the hulking figure atop the horse bowed his head in reply. "Drills first thing tomorrow morning, get the rust of your bones. It's time us summer boys get a taste of winter!" The ever silent warrior silently obeyed, moving to make camp outside, groaning and whinging troops following.

"Right, what the hell am i supposed to be doing again?" he said out loud.

"Perhaps some food in the belly your grace?" a voice answered.

Robin turned his head, to be met with the most uncommon of beauty Westeros had to offer. She was tall, almost too tall as some would say, she was after all only half a head shorter than he was. The girl towered over most men and women of the land, only the rumored Brienne of Tarth was match for, though in height only. There was a wild beauty about her, her cold blue eyes almost shined in the white of the north. Long dark locks crowned her head, so dark it seemed to draw the light in.

Her face was the picture of nobility, as one would see in the paintings only created by the greatest of artisans. She was known by many names, the most famous of which was Seastar, after the Targaryen Bastard. Some called her the Tower of Beauty as well, a terrible pun in Robin's opinion. She was the most beautiful bastard in Westeros, but to him, she was only Bella, his lovely sister.

"Come my dear, I shall have you sing one of your songs for me as we sup, I do hope I won't have to beat the northerners with a stick when they lay eyes on you!" he laughed, quite loudly, attracting the attention he so desperately did not want.

"Forge me a stick of my own and I shall manage just quite my prince." was the reply.

The two walked hand in hand, with a few sellsword guards loitering behind, already enchanted by the Stormlander beauty.

* * *

The feast that night was one to remember. This was after all, the very first proper one he'd ever had in the North, and while the the splendor and excess could not match those in the South, by god these people knew how to throw a party. They were a wild people after all, hardened by their harsh land. The feast must have been their chance to let loose. And speaking of letting loose...

"No one shall defeat me! For I am the Great Bastard! I demand a Shrine be raised in honor of my...my skills! Bwahaha!" the Northerners seated around Gendry roared in laughter at the drunken sod, clapping along as he shouted and fooled about. Robb Stark followed him hand in hand, swallowing their alcohol like air. Robin's eye twitched a little when he spotted the fucking King of all people playing along with the little shit.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked aloud, spotting Myrcella at the edge of his eye holding a goblet full of watered wine. The girl jerked at being caught, only the slightest trace of guilt on her delicate face.

"I was... trying to make friends?" the girl could only say. "Yes, and wine would certainly aid your efforts yes?" he asked in a deadpan. Before the princess could answer he merely waved her away. "Go on then, and make that cup last, because it's the only one you're going to drink, understood?" he asked in a tone that brooded no questions.

"Yes brother.." she whined and moved on.

Bella was nowhere to be seen, probably off plotting about he reckoned. Little Tommen and Brandon Stark were deep in conversation, must have been an interesting one judging by the frown on their faces. His mother was speaking to Lady Stark and the girl Sansa, which left...

"Savages.." Joffery snorted derisively as he sipped his goblet, with that ridiculous jewel encrusted monstrosity on his head. He was already red in the face, muttering about himself.

"Watch the tone boy, you're in their house now. Due respect is proper." he chided lightly, not wanting to ruin the vibe. Joff looked incredulous, slamming his wine on the table loudly, drawing unneeded attention.

"You know I'm right, mother always said so!" he half said and half groaned, sipping on his wine yet again. Robin rolled his eyes at the little idiot, Joff knew he was a lightweight and still drank wine like water. He was probably insulted that the 'rabble' could outdrink royalty.

"You're making a fool of yourself handle your shit Joffrey please." he scolded half-heartedly.

"I can handle myself just fine! I don't need you hovering over me!" he shouted back, slamming his goblet onto the table hard.

"What was that!?" he yelled, slapping Joff across the head so hard the Prince's head smashed into the table, bouncing off the hard wood twice. Robin counted himself lucky his mother had removed herself from the feast or she'd be shrieking his ear off for that.

"Oi, you still alive?" he called out to his brother.

"Come here boy!" a voice roared at him. "Look at him! Acting all important and royal and shit! Did ya know e used to piss his pants during thunderstorms!? Not a Baratheon at all I say!" the King shouted out loud, not a care in the world. The older Baratheon and Lannister guards had no qualms about shitting themselves with laughter. He could feel the eyes on the high table, and the Starks on him, judging him and plastering their eyes, awaiting his reaction.

"Once I caught him trying his mother's dress! Shall we have a crown of roses for your coronation then boy!?" he yelled even louder, slapping his knee in laughter as he did.

He was the Crown Prince after all, and the next ruler. He was above childish insults.

.

.

"What the fuck was that!?" he roared right back, standing up so hard his chair flew a distance away and crashing into the walls, making the high table jerk. "You wanna die Old man!? I'll fucking show you a Baratheon!" he yelled and jumped over the high table, launching himself at the King's crowd and punching the first face he saw.

The innocent Jory Cassel was the first victim of the night as he met sweet unconscious. The volume in the great hall increased tenfold as the Crown Prince and King themselves started a massive free for all brawl.

Royalty indeed.


	3. Winterfell (Part 2)

-Black King-

Winterfell

**A/N: By the Way a lot of changes was made to Chapter 1**

* * *

_"Who are you!? What do you want!?"_

_"Kill the spare!"_

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Robin shot up on his bed, breathing harshly as he tried to get his pulse under control. Rivulets of sweat dripped down his muscled frame continuously. Suddenly, a window blew open violently, letting the biting cold northern winds slap his naked body. He barely registered the cold though, his body was made of sterner stuff. His head was matted with sweat, it's wet tips touching his eye, poking it incessantly. Groaning in annoyance, he pulled his hair back, grimacing as his palms got wet as he did.

Moving to wipe them on his furs, the symbol embedded on his left caught his attention. A triangle, with a perfect circle sitting inside and a long line that cut from the top straight to the bottom. He could only assume that it was a rune or a sigil of some sort that had ties to the entity that would sometimes visit him in his dreams.

Speaking of dreams, the one that haunted tonight appeared to be the graveyard. He could remember the scene perfectly. There was a boy, Cedric was his name, a young man who looked to be seven and ten standing with what he assumed to be Harry Potter, his previous reincarnation. Robin would forever be fascinated with his previous self. Short statue, skinny as a straw with wild untameable black hair. There was a resemblance in their faces, though only those who knew them both would be able to notice it he reckoned. The exact same lightning bolt scar was there on both of their foreheads.

The biggest physical difference they had in his opinion was the eyes. Harry had the most beautiful green eyes Robin had ever seen, even more captivating than the famed Lannisters. In those eyes he saw an immense strength and power of will. It was the eyes of a person that would never give up, those were the eyes of King. Those were his eyes, their eyes. For he _was_ Harry James Potter. They shared the same soul, the same strength of character, the same will.

Harry must have been devastated when the bright flash of Viridian smashed into Cedric, killing him instantly. A most evil and terrifying cackle followed, and there the dream would end. Always.

Meditation, medicine, and even self-electrocution once. All of these he tried in an effort to control his dreams, but none worked. Shade of the evening had only managed to increase the intensity of these dreams, but that was the only extent of it's powers. Weirwood paste was next on the list, and since they were in the North, he had planned on making some himself from Winterfell's very own Godswood. Surely it would aid his efforts?

The Prince quickly got out of bed, proceeding to close the windows, but not before taking note of the time of day. Seeing as it was almost dawn he made decision to bath early and break his fast alone. He winced as a yawn forced him to stretch his bruised jaw.

'Damn old freak' he cursed mentally, wondering how the hell his father still retained much of his strength. He would have to apologize to Jory Cassel, Robb Stark, his uncle Jaime, the Hound... well he had a lot of people to apologize to for that stunt he pulled. He felt hypocritical, punishing Gendry and Joff for fighting and then starting a brawl with the King in the Lord Paramount of The North's very own hall. Perhaps he would go easy on the two bullheaded idiots for awhile.

Quickly allowing a red-headed servant girl (who was obviously eye-fucking him, and here he thought northern girls were more reserved) to draw a bath, he washed himself and clothed himself lightly, almost too light for the North one would argue.

The first person he saw was Tyrion, whom was waddling his way across to the Lord's table no doubt in search of food.

"Uncle! I didn't see you last night?" he called out, overtaking the dwarf and settling himself onto the bench.

"I was too busy trying not to be stomped to death by a drunk fool. And how are you this morning then? Must be enjoying yourself eh? The northerners were practically running away when you knocked out our dear King." Tyrion said, gulping down his beer after.

"Mother must be pulling her hair out by now." he chuckled sheepishly, it was true. He did knock out his father, but that was only because the old king had snucked up on him with a sucker punch.

Their conversation flowed smoothly as they ate, they spoke about a number of topics, from Robin's campaign in Essos, to the new acquired glass making technique he introduced. Tyrion and he could have talked till nightfall and the wouldn't run out of material, which was why he forced himself to cut their time short. He quickly bid his uncle goodbye and started making his way to where he thought the training grounds would be.

The servants and squires were already by then, most of them courteously greeting him as he passed by. Robin considered it a blessing that he didn't have the Kingsguard on his arse the whole time he wandered about Winterfell. He remembered talking his father out of guards, considering them to be a nuisance, even when Jaime did it. He only tolerated Barristan Selmy at times but even then it annoyed him to no end to have a shadow following him about.

Quickly he arrived at the training yard, surprised to see a number of northerners already milling about, some where even sparring. He spotted Gendry and Joff running rounds, with the Hound barking orders. The Lord-Commander of the black guard was there as well, along with some of the soldiers.

"Shirts off boys, and boots too." he ordered as soon as he was in talking distance. The men immediately obeyed as removed their upper clothes tossing them aside. This action drew much of the attention towards them. Every single one of his soldiers were bred for war. Tightly corded muscles covered them top to bottom. Numerous scars decorated their bodies, which they wore proudly. Robin was proud of them, for each Black-guard was equivalent to ten men with a sword, and every one would die for him. Their loyalty was unbreakable, as were their will.

"Feeling cold?" he asked almost mockingly, chuckling as a chorus of 'No sir!' replied. There were forty to fifty, excluding the Lord-Commander here.

"Gendry, Joff! Over here! Shirts off now!" he ordered, nodding as the two scamps quickly arrived and disrobed. His brothers quickly stood front and center, trying their hardest to control the shivers due to the cold. Slowly, his lips parted into an absolute savage grin that send chills running down their spines.

'Maybe I won't go easy on them.' cackled in his head.

* * *

The first thing Robb Stark saw as he stepped foot into the training grounds was a flying naked prince, literally. Prince Robin was screaming as he threw Joffrey three meters through the air like he was made of straw. Jon and Theon let out similar cries of shock from beside him.

"Disappointing!" the Prince roared as his brother landed harshly into the mud, rolling quite the distance as momentum carried him right before the stunned Stark heir. For the barest of moments, Robb sympathized with the quivering mess of flesh before his feet. He gulped in fear as he took in the numerous, heavily muscled monsters all caked with blood and mud in various states of pain.

He spotted the Royal bastard begging for mercy before his brother grabbed him by the waist from the behind and lifted him overhead, slamming him head first into the ground. A dull, but loud thud could be heard clearly as the poor bastard drilled into the unforgiving grounds of Winterfell.

_This was training?_

Who the fuck said that southerners were flowery softy little shits? Robb flinched as the Prince kicked Gendry's unconscious body to the side, who looked suspiciously like a dead body by now. Even worse was the other men already continuing their training without so much as a word at the beating, as if this was a daily occurrence.

A cursory glance around told him that the other residents of the castle were of the same mind as he. Most of them looked incredulous and terrified out of their wits.

"Aha! There they are! Over here then!" his heart beat heavily at his chest as the seven foot monstrosity yelled at them to come over.

"Oi, isn't he dead?" Theon whispered harshly, receiving no answers.

Robb accidentally kicked Joffery in the side as he went over, mumbling apologies as he went, not wanting to keep the demon waiting.

"Well then boys! Here for a taste of proper Crownland training session!?" he asked loudly, making the three young men flinch at the volume. The words he actually wanted to say got stuck in his throat as he stared into those bright, cold blue eyes. And did he say 'Crownland Training'? Did all of the Crownlanders force themselves through this?

"Or you can join little Bran and Tommen over there if you're still feeling the effects of last night? I do apologize for that commotion my friends!" he spoke, booming in laughter. Glancing to the side, Robb was surprised to see two heavily padded boys swinging tourney swords too heavy for their skinny arms, with Baratheon, Stark and Lannister guards cheering on.

"I hear the Bastard of Winterfell has some skill with the blade Sir." a man said. Robb could almost feel Jon tense up at the mention of his parentage, and while normally Robb would stand up for his family, this was a completely different situation they were stuck in.

He focused his attention at the man who spoke. He was tall, but not overly so. Long scars marred his face from the temple through the nose and lips, three straight lines right beside one another from one side of his face to the other. The marks on his body told Robb that this was obviously a veteran warrior, not one to be fucked with he reckoned.

"Now now Renold, he has a name does he not? Speak it will you?" the Prince chided lightly, although there was a smile on his face.

"Of course Sir, my apologies Jon Snow." he said, bowing his head just a bit, not looking in the least bit apologetic.

"Y-yes of course, no offense was taken." Jon stammered back, looking embarrassed at being the center of attention.

"Quite the prodigy then aren't you Jon Snow? My sister tells me you're to enter the ranks of the Night's Watch?" Robb's head snapped towards his brother. His eyes widened like a deer caught in between a hunter's arrow. His recently shaved beard couldn't hide his blush at the mention of the Prince's sister, but which sister? Robb prayed it was the bastard, it could be a great match after all.

He shuddered to think what the Queen would do if it was the trueborn princess. The stories he heard about the Lannisters were anything but pleasant.

"Ah..yes your grace." his brother said, his face the very definition of nervous.

Prince Robin's eyes narrowed as he took in the Bastard of Winterfell.

"Good man, perhaps a sparring session before we move on?" he offered, but everyone knew it was a disguised demand.

"Greyjoy will go first then, Renold if you would?" the Prince said immediately, startling the three. Robb wished his friend good luck, he had much confidence in Theon, all three of them were trained nobles after all. Even if the Blackguard were said to be elite, surely a mere soldier couldn't best Theon?

Their makeshift arena compromised of flesh caught the attention of everyone else, who quickly gathered to witness the following spar. The bodies of the Gendry and Joffrey were already thrown out somewhere by the Prince's orders. Robb made a face at that, wondering how the hell did the two survived all these years with such a man.

"This match will end when I deem it, or when blood is shed!" Robin announced, much to the surprise (and horror) or everyone else. First blood was far too violent for a normal sparring session that included a Lord Paramount's Heir. Robb remembered how the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell had been challenged to first blood, the result was the death of a Lord of Yronwood. Even if the circumstances were very different, he couldn't help but feel disturbed.

Ser Rodrick looked like he wanted to protest but quickly fell silent as the Prince went over to whisper something in his ear. The man known as Renold stepped into the arena, taking his place. The man was still caked in sweat, mud and blood. Robb frowned deeply, was the man planning to fight bare?

"Is this a joke? At least put some armor on!" Theon called out, outraged, mirroring Robb's own thoughts.

But the man only stayed silent, picking up a tourney sword, measuring it and giving it a few practice swings.

"Shall we begin?" he merely said, causing mixed reactions from the crowd and making Theon livid.

"Fine then!" he yelled back, not giving his opponent a chance to retort, Theon rushed forwards, bringing his sword for an overhead slash. The sword only sliced thin air as it smashed the into the mud. Theon, already off-balanced by over extension was easily dropped by a light kick to his back, but he quickly rolled forwards, immediately assuming his position as he jumped to his feet.

With a cry, he swung his sword again, this time much faster and forcing the other man to block with his blade. He swung three more times, but each strike he was knocked away almost effortlessly. He feinted left, then rushed towards the man's right side for stab, but again was met with an iron defense. The citizens of Winterfell cheered him on as he fought valiantly. To them it looked as if the Blackguard was at his mercy, only being able to dodge and block the never-ending attacks.

But Robb knew better. Theon was tiring fast, and it seemed as if the older man was barely sweating. Realistically speaking, there was no way for Theon to win this match. The two combatants were at a completely different level. Theon's bull-headed attitude wasn't doing him any favors either, Robb wanted to call him out on it, to give him advice but he knew that Theon's pride would rebel against him.

He knew that Theon's opponent had skill with the blade but not to this extent. The man was shitting all over the squid!

Finally the time came when his foster-brother finally took a moment to pause and catch his breath, that was when the Blackguard struck. Robb heard it before he saw it, a single, upwards slash cut through the wind. Robb almost missed it, one moment he was completely relaxed, then his body burst into motion, catching even the spectators off-guard.

Renold's swing was purposefully aiming for Theon's sword. A loud clanging sound reverberated as it smashed into Theon, sending him _flying_ through the air where he crashed into the Winterfell guards, the force taking a number of them down with him.

"Wh-what...the fuck was that?" Jon asked breathlessly, awed at seeing something otherworldly. Robb too was in absolute amazement, he could almost feel his eyes popping out of his head as he stared on in complete silence.

That strength was absolutely insane! Such a thing should not be possible at all with a body that size! Theon was by no means a small person and this... Renold had managed to throw him back as if he was nothing but ragdoll!

He supposed he shouldn't be that surprised, seeing as their Master himself was an absolute freak of nature rumored to be even stronger than the Mountain That Rides.

Suddenly he realized that Jon and he were not the only ones who were shocked into silence. The quiet was starting to get awkward when suddenly the Blackguard erupted into a deafening roar of cheers that prompted the Lannisters and Baratheons to join in.

"A valiant effort by Lord Greyjoy! Is there anyone else that wishes to test their mettle against the Blackguard!? Anyone!? Whether you are a farmer, blacksmith...a bastard." here he paused, pointedly gesturing at Jon. "-anyone is welcome!"

Robb knew a challenge when he saw one, and was about to step forwards himself, to restore his friend and the North's honor when a rustle from beside distracted him. He cursed loudly as Jon stomped towards the future king.

"Wait!" Robb snarled, but Jon merely brushed him off as he strode towards the center.

"I will accept this challenge my prince." he said, bowing his head, making the northerners cheer him on. The prince's eyes narrowed as a grin slowly formed across his lips, splitting his face in half from ear to ear.

"Then you shall face me Jon Snow." he rumbled, stepping closer toward the wide-eyed bastard of Winterfell. The close distance between the two potential fighters had Jon craning his neck up to face his opponent.

His widened eyes spoke volumes of what he must have been thinking at the moment. It took him a few seconds to center himself before he nodded respectfully, accepting the challenge.

* * *

"You've got guts Snow. I admire that. Now raise your sword!" he bellowed, smirking as the young man did just that. His sister would call it a reckless move, openly goading Lord Stark's bastard into a fight but he could not help himself. Such fine specimen had no place on The Wall, surely Jon Snow would do better with him. Bella had an unusual eye for talent and a man's heart. According to her Snow would be a perfect addition, perhaps one day he could even be part of the top brass.

Unlike his subordinate, Robin did not pick up a weapon, merely cracking his knuckles, making his intentions perfectly clear. He started circling his prey as if he was a predator, a lion seeking his prey's neck. Snow earned quite the points when he immediately readied himself, taking his stance. Robin quickly blocked out all other sounds, aside from those coming from his prey. How he truly enjoyed these moments. The Battlefield was an entirely different monster that forced you to be on your toes at all times, with your senses working in tandem at the highest levels non-stop.

A duel allowed one some leeway, as the only focus that you needed to direct was on one man.

His eyes could see the bastard's movements, how his muscles contracted, his facial twitches and the emotion in his eyes. His control was obviously far above those of his age, he could even be a match for the lower tiered soldiers in his ranks. Lord Stark had hit the genetic lottery in this one, Jon Snow was obviously very skilled, maybe even a genius.

His hearing detected a rustle, Robin's eyes immediately snapped towards Snow's blade, dodging the thrust to his neck with ease, merely swaying his head to the side. Jon did not stop there, from his extended position from the stab, he swung his blade in chase of the Prince's neck, but missed when Robin merely ducked.

The Prince took advantage and delivered a hammer of a knee to the bastard's solar plexus, making him stumble a few paces back, struggling to regain his breath. He would not be given the chance as a foot the size of his face smashed into him, forcing him to block with his forearms, this time sending him tumbling to the floor.

Learning from Theon's mistake, he quickly used the force of the momentum and rolled with it, regaining his footing. Robin smiled in amusement as he allowed Jon a few moments rest, not wanting his fun to end quickly.

"You're panicking Snow, no idea what to do?" he asked, obviously rhetorically.

Jon ignored him, and quickly struck again, emphasizing speed over force and incorporating feints into his attacks. Robin dodged every one of them, moving with a speed that defied his frame. Snow was truly in the shit now it seemed, judging by the red faced and harsh breathing.

"Come on Snow!" he yelled, hoping to get a reaction. It clearly worked as Jon immediately lunged, almost catching Robin on the cheek. The Prince replied with a multitude of jabs to the face that left Jon dazed.

"Disappointing!" he roared. Robin's hand shot out like a snake, grabbing his opponent sword. The other quickly wrapped around Snow's throat. In a single motion he lifted the Bastard of Winterfell off the ground.

With a grunt he brought him down like a hammer striking the earth with a slam, immediately knocking his opponent out, leaving him foaming at the lips.

"Perhaps you'd be better off at The Wall.." he mumbled. Turning around to face his awestruck audience, Robin raised his fist in a roar and was met with thunderous cheers and applause.

* * *

A/N: Typed on my Iphone since my computer got fucked. No idea when's the next chapter is coming. To the guest reviewer who said something bout Sir's and Beers. Pretty sure Tyrion ordered a mug of beer in Winterfell the first episode. I will however be using "SIR" to differentiate between a Knight of The Seven and an Officer of the Military.

To the harsh critics and 'flamers' i guess? I don't really mind the cursing and all that so go all out if you want if something about the story pisses you off. Seriously.


End file.
